For The Larabees: Beginnings
by Wendymypooh
Summary: This set of six vignettes make up part of the foundation stories in a new Old West Au I created for the characters of the western tv show, the Magnificent Seven.


Beginnings

Part 1-Josiah's Story-1862

14-year-old Josiah Sanchez awoke to find himself sprawled in a pool of his own blood, upon his bedroom floor. He blinked against the bright light shining down upon his head from beneath the curtains of the window directly above him. He closed his eyes again and tried to think past the Indian drums beating a staccato in his head, and remember what had happened to cause him to be in such bad shape.

He remembered that he had worked at his apprentice job with Mr. Jenns, the local blacksmith, after school had ended and had been excited about getting home since he had been paid his first week's wages. Where most young men his age would have been dreaming about what he was going to spend the money on, he instead was eager to hand the money over to his Ma, Maria, to stash away from his Pa. Isaac Sanchez had grown abusive as his dependency on strong drink increased. Although he and his Ma were the ones who took the brunt of the abuse, his little sister Hannah had recently been added to the receiving line of his Pa's wrath, and that had been the last straw for his Ma. As soon as they were able to save up enough money, the three of them were going to run away.

A haunting image danced before his eyes of his Pa standing over him with his arms lifted above his head, his cane gripped tightly in both hands, and heard his own voice pleading with his Pa not to hurt him anymore. His cries had fallen on deaf ears, as a moment later he had felt an intense pain in his head, and then nothing. Even though that memory was painful for him to recall, it wasn't nearly as painful or as horrifying as the one that followed it.

It was of his Pa's back and swinging arms, covering most of his Ma's slight form in a corner of the sitting room, as she slumped against the wall, shielding his little sister's body from harm, as Isaac beat her. Hannah was clinging to their Ma's legs and wailing for all she was worth, a high-pitched, tortured sound that sent shivers racing down his spine.

*Please…please God…I don't talk to you as much as I should…but please let my Ma and Hannah be all right. I wouldn't even mind if they hightailed it out of here as soon as my Pa went to sleep…and left me behind. I just want them to be okay. * Josiah prayed.

"Ma? Hannah?" he called out, wincing as the sound of his own voice reverberated through his head. He forced himself into a sitting position, and felt the bones inside of his head slide against each other, causing his head to swim, and his stomach to lurch violently. Bile raced up his spine and erupted out of his mouth and splashed onto the rug, mixing with the blood already staining it. When his stomach seemed to have emptied of its contents, Josiah lowered his throbbing head into his hands.

A moment or two passed before he lowered his bloodied hands, and lifted his aching head. He used one hand to wipe his mouth, and the other one to reach out toward the nearest wall and pushed himself up into a standing position. He lurched away from the wall and unsteadily made his way across the room and out into the hallway.

"Ma? Hannah? Where are you?" he called out again, feeling his heart hammering in his chest, as panic flooded through his battered body. As he moved slowly down the hall, he became aware of other injuries he had. There was a constant pain in his left side that made him clutch it with his right hand as he walked.

He saw her battered legs first as he came into the sitting area. She was sprawled out on the ground, knees bent, hips twisted to one side, bloodied torso with a kitchen knife protruding from her chest lying flat on the ground, and her bruised head turned to one side.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" Josiah exclaimed, falling to his knees, as his stomach rebelled again and he retched uncontrollably for several minutes. He was shaking from a combination of the injuries he had sustained at the hands of his Pa, and the shock of finding his Ma's lifeless body by the time he had finished vomiting.

When he could move, Josiah crawled toward his Ma, careful not to accidentally bump her for all it mattered to her, he didn't know. It just seemed right somehow. That didn't stop him though, from reaching out one bloodied hand and gently caressing her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to protect you from HIM." he whispered brokenly to her.

He allowed himself only a few moments to grieve beside her, before he began looking for his baby sister. "Hannah? Hannah, are you here? Answer Josiah! Please, Hannah!"

There was no response…only eerie silence. Josiah pushed himself to his feet, and began to look around the sitting room, but finding it empty except for his Ma. He moved then into the kitchen, and it was there that he found her. The kitchen table had been knocked over onto its side, and her small body was hidden partially behind it.

"Hannah."

Tears filled his blue eyes as she fell to his knees once again, shoving the table aside as if it was kindling, and pulled Hannah's lifeless form into his lap and cradled her to him and wept.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard a low moan, followed by grumbling coming from the direction of his folks' bedroom on the other side of the sitting room. Renewed horror filled him as he realized that his Pa was still in the house, and had apparently fallen into a drunken sleep after his murderous rampage.

Josiah was frozen still for a moment, expecting at any moment for his Pa to stumble out of the bedroom, see him holding Hannah's lifeless body in his arms, and realize that he had to kill Josiah as well to prevent anyone from knowing what he had done. He lowered his sister's head onto the floor, scrambled to his feet, and hastily gathered food into a sack, before retracing his steps, and moving into his bedroom as fast as his weary and injured body could take him. He added clothing and a blanket, as well as a few personal items to the sack of food and not trusting that his Pa hadn't come out of his bedroom, Josiah climbed out of his window and stole away into the night.

Part 2-Nathan's story-1862

Twelve-year-old Nathan Jackson grimaced as he stood in front of the makeshift operating table and handed surgical instruments to Dr. Elijah Sanderson, a Confederate Army surgeon as he performed his fifth amputation in the past several hours. Bile rose up in Nathan's throat and threatened to erupt from his mouth, but he frantically choked it back. He would not do anything to embarrass Dr. Sanderson.

The elderly doctor had been kind and patient with him ever since his previous owner had given him to the man three years earlier. It had been the solitary one act of kindness his former master had done for him, over the years since he and his father and younger siblings had been sold away from his mother. Ezekiel Vander had been an especially cruel master with a violent temper, who would beat a slave for the slightest infraction, real or imagined. Nathan knew from harsh experience as one of the man's favorite recipients of his beatings, and still bore the scars on his back from a whip on his young flesh.

Even though three years had passed since that awful, painful day, Nathan remembered it clearly in his mind. He had been sent by his master over to a neighboring plantation with a note for the owner, and was given explicit instructions to obtain a reply and return to the plantation immediately. Nathan had delivered the note as he was told, received the reply, and started back to the plantation. He was cutting across the fields towards the main house, when he had spied a rabbit that had gotten caught in a snare and stopped to free it. It had taken only a couple of minutes, but it had been enough time wasted, to thoroughly infuriate his Master.

"Please, Master Ezekiel…please don't hurt me!" a terrified Nathan pleaded with his Master as he was stripped from the neck down and tied to the whipping tree. His whole body shook with his terror, as his cries were met with deaf ears. Through his tear heavy eyes he could see his father struggling frantically to free himself from the steel grasps of two of the white men who worked for Master Vander.

"_No! Master, please, whip me! Please don't whip my Nathan!" He heard his father shout brokenly over and over again, even as he felt the first agonizing sting of the whip against his bare flesh. _

_All he heard afterwards were the sounds of his own screams in his ears until he blissfully fell into darkness_

_When he had awakened a few days later, after having become deathly ill due to an infection caused by the whipping, it had been to find himself in a comfortable bed, warm room, and Dr. Sanderson was sitting in a chair beside the bed reading. He seemed to sense Nathan's eyes on him, because he lowered the book and smiled at him. He had remembered thinking that Dr. Sanderson had the kindest blue eyes he had seen from a white man._

_Dr. Sanderson had proceeded to tell him that he had bought him from Master Vander, and that he was safe. Nathan had only nodded and had pretended to go back to sleep. The doctor had left him alone, and Nathan had dissolved into tears. They were mixed tears of relief and sadness. Relief that he would never be under Mr. Vander's control again, and sadness from being torn away from someone else that he loved, and who he would probably never see again. Something had told him in that brief few moments that he never had anything to fear from Dr. Sanderson. _

He was right too. Dr. Sanderson not only had treated him with kindness and genuine affection, he had also taught him to read, write, do arithmetic, understand science, and groomed him to be his personal assistant. As the doctor's personal assistant, Nathan accompanied the doctor on many of his house calls to patients' homes. At first, Nathan had only been allowed to witness the doctor tending to minor illnesses, cuts, bruises, and the delivering of babies. Eventually he was working alongside the doctor as he removed bullets, repaired broken bones, and even tended to a man who was badly burned.

None of what he had seen previously could have prepared him for the grim reality of what he was seeing now. Gone were the comfortable beds patients laid in, clean operating tables, sterile rooms, and ample medical supplies. Here there was only a crowded tent with dozens of narrow cots filled with broken, battered men. The stench of bloody, unwashed flesh, perspiration, and human waste permeated the air and left a sickening taste on your tongue. The endless litany of agonized moans and cries assaulted one's ears and made it hard to think.

Many of the patients' who required amputations were blissfully unaware of what was happening to their bodies until after the operations were finished. A few, like this patient Dr. Sanderson was currently operating on, were aware of what was going on around them, and therefore felt every motion of the saw as it cut into his damaged flesh. The soldier's screams pierced Nathan's ears, and he tried desperately to block them out as he continued to hand Dr. Sanderson the instruments he needed to complete the operation. Thankfully the soldier passed out halfway through the operation and Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. When it was over, Nathan waited while the doctor left orders for the patient's care to the orderly.

"Come along, Nathan. Let us sojourn to our tent to impart on a brief respite before we are needed again," Dr. Sanderson said when he was finished speaking with the orderly.

"Yes, sir." Nathan replied and followed Dr. Sanderson out of the hospital tent.

Nathan and Dr. Sanderson had just left the hospital tent when the encampment came under fire. They crouched down, the doctor drawing his pistol. "Stay close, Nathan."

Nathan nodded, fear making his heart thump madly in his chest. Dr. Sanderson rose up onto his feet; keeping hunched over and began walking toward the back of the encampment where their tent was located. Nathan rose to follow him, even though his mind was screaming for him to not to move, to not make himself a target. Explosions rocked the ground as cannonballs entered the area and met their designated targets. The sounds of bullets being expelled from pistols and rifles, mixed with shouted instructions, and new screams of pain filled the air as Nathan followed the doctor.

Suddenly Nathan found himself being propelled backwards onto the ground as Dr. Sanderson shoved into him. He tried to keep from falling, but couldn't, falling hard onto the ground and rolling a few feet away as an explosion rocked the ground where he had just been standing. His ears rang with the sound of the explosion as he rolled to a stop into a tent pole and felt the air leave him.

He drew a gasping breath a moment later, grimacing at the bruising he must have assuredly received from connecting with the post so hard. The ringing had finally stopped and his ears were filled again with the sounds of war.

"Master Sanderson?" Nathan called out, sitting up suddenly, and looked anxiously around him.

He spotted the doctor lying on the ground a short distance from him and scrambled on all fours in the dirt over to him. The doctor's glasses had fallen off, and lay shattered next to his head. His wizened face was pale, but perspiring, his chest heaving as he couldn't catch his breath and his wrinkled hands clutched at his shirt above his heart.

"Master Sanderson…what is it? " Nathan asked, even as his trained young eyes were already looking over the man's body for any signs of tears or holes or blood…but he found nothing.

"My…my h-heart." The older man wheezed out between painful breaths. "Get…Get my medicine."

Nathan rose to his feet and scurried in a crouched position over to the tent he shared with the doctor and dashed inside. It took a moment for him to remember where it was he had seen the doctor hide the small bottle of pills. He rushed over to the small table beside the doctor's cot and opened the drawer, pulled out the bottle and ran back outside to the doctor.

He dropped down to his knees beside Dr. Sanderson, and felt his heart plummet to the ground. The raspy breathing had stopped, the hands had stilled, and the kind eyes that had looked upon him with genuine affection were closed.

"No!" Nathan cried out, dropping the bottle of pills and giving Dr. Sanderson's already cooling body a violent shake, hoping that what his eyes was telling him wasn't true.

After several moments, Nathan gave up his attempts to revive the older man and staggered to his feet, realizing for the first time that he was really free. He could not waste another second grieving over the doctor, if he expected to have any chance on slipping out of the encampment and making his way north to freedom.

He ran back into their tent and gathered his few belongings together, along with the rest of their rations and a canteen. Nathan left the tent and took off running into the woods without looking back.

Part 3-Buck's Story- 1863

"Mae? Oh dear God, Mae!" Elsie Lee cried out as she spotted upon the battered, bloodied form of her friend Mae Wilmington in the mouth of the alleyway she had been passing on her way back to the brothel she called home.

She kneeled by Mae's crumpled form, her large eyes filling with tears as she took in the ripped and bloodied dress, the battered swollen face, and wonder if she was already too late. With trembling hands she reached out and pressed a finger underneath Mae's bloodied nose and felt relief fill her as air touched her finger. Or was she just imagining things.

"Help me! Somebody help me please! My friend is hurt!" She called out into the night, over and over again, until finally someone came running to her aide.

"Please my friend, she's hurt bad. We need to get her back to her place." Elsie told the two men.

They hesitated for a moment, clearly not wanting to be seen tangling with two of the town's 'working girls' for fear of their wives finding out, but neither could stomach the thought of not helping a woman in distress. So they moved forward, ushering Elsie away and gently lifted Mae off of the ground and carried her through the alleyway toward the brothel.

"Ma!" Ten-year-old Buck Wilmington cried out as he walked toward his 'home' after spending most of the day and evening over at his best friend, Chris Larabees' house, and caught sight of the men carrying his mother's body into the brothel.

It had become a regular routine for him to do in the evenings while his Ma was entertaining 'callers', ever since Cindy Larabee had befriended Mae Wilmington several months earlier.

"What did you do to my Ma?" Buck shouted furiously as he came into the little house outside the brothel that he and his Ma called home, and lunged himself at the two men.

"We didn't anything kid except help carry your ma here." One of the men exclaimed, while the other hastily beat it out the door.

"You're lying!" Buck shouted, even as Elsie moved to grab him by the shoulders to stop him. She nodded for the other man to leave, and he gladly departed.

"Buck, stop it! Your Ma needs your help right now! I'm going to go for the doc. Stay here!" Elsie told him, rushing out the door after the two men.

Buck spun around and rushed to the bed, collapsing onto his knees beside it as he gazed in fear at his Ma's battered frame.

He wasn't alone with his Ma long before Elsie returned with the sleepy doctor in tow. The doctor ordered him to wait outside while he tended to Mae, but Buck didn't want to go and the doctor reluctantly consented to allow him to stay as he went to work on Mae.

Elsie stayed too, or for as long as she could before she was called away to work, and then Buck was alone to wonder whether or not the doctor was going to be able to save his ma's life.

An hour passed…then two before the doctor finished his frantic work on Mae Wilmington and turned to look at her son. "Your Ma's hurt real bad, son. It's lucky that she's lived this long as it is. It's doubtful that she will last another night. I've done all I can for her. The rest is on your young shoulders."

Buck nodded. He was going to take real good care of his Ma. With what the doctor had done for her, and him taking care of the rest, he knew that his Ma was going to come out just fine. The doctor left then, leaving him alone with his Ma. He filled up a bowl with some water and found a rag to use to clean her face. He sat down in one of the two chairs they had and carefully dabbed at her bruised and battered face with a wet rag. He winced as a moan escaped from between her cut and swollen lips, knowing that no matter how gentle he was, he still hurt her. Tears welled up in his blue eyes that he rapidly blinked away. He wouldn't give into his tears because his Ma needed him to be strong for her. She needed him to take care of her.

Buck rose from the chair he was sitting on, picking up the bowl of now dirty water he had been using to clean her face with, and carried it over to the open window and dumped its contents out on the ground below. He moved over to the small kitchen area and poured more water into the bowl from the bucket he had filled a short time earlier. He returned to the bed, sat down beside it and resumed his tender ministrations.

"Buck."

His name wasn't more than a whisper, but Buck heard it nonetheless.

"I'm right here, Ma." He said softly, leaning forward so that the pain filled blue eyes identical to his own wouldn't have to strain to see him.

"You be a good boy, Buck. Mind Chris' mama; Cindy Larabee will take right good care of you. Work hard, study good, and you'll go far. You mind your manners with the ladies when you get older. Treat them all real nice no matter what they are." Mae told him softly, her voice growing fainter as she spoke. "I love you."

Buck had to strain to hear her last words. "I love you to, Mama. I'll remember what you said.

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he watched her chest rise and fall with her last breath. Buck took one of her limp hands in his and lowered his head to rest upon it as he wept.

Chris Larabee, Buck's best friend, slipped quietly into the room and over to Buck's side. He had been standing in the doorway for the past couple of minutes, but hadn't wanted to disturb Buck and Mae's last moments together before Mae died. He placed an arm around Buck's shoulder and held his friend as he wept.

Part 4-Chris' story-1863

Six months after Mae Wilmington died, and Buck moved into the Larabee household, Cindy Larabee contracted influenza. She had willingly agreed to aide the local doctor in carrying for the townsfolk afflicted with the disease, never one to turn her back on someone else in need. That was after all why she had befriended Mae Wilmington in the first place. She had seen their two sons playing together one day, and heard the rumors around town about Mae being a 'working girl'. Instead of forbidding Chris to have anything to due with Buck because of his mother's less than savory work, she had instead made it a point to introduce herself to Mae. The two women soon became fast friends and from that day on, whenever Mae was 'entertaining guests', Buck would be spend most of that time at the Larabee house with Chris.

It had been one day last week when Cindy had returned home from her job as a laundress for one of the hotels, feverish and weak. She had tumbled into bed and had never gotten out of it again. While Chris stayed by his mother's side, Buck had been sent to get the doc who had taken one look at Cindy, and diagnosed her as having influenza as well. He had left some medicine, along with some instructions with the two small boys on how to care for her, and then gone back to the makeshift hospital to see to the rest of the townsfolk afflicted with influenza.

Working together, Chris and Buck bathed Cindy's feverish skin; spoon-fed her medicine, water, and broth. When she was too weak to use the bedpan they provided for her, they even changed her soiled clothing and remade the bed. Nothing they did seemed to make one bit of difference though. She finally succumbed to the disease.

That had been two nights earlier. It had been late and both Buck and Chris had been sleeping. Chris had awakened suddenly, and gone to his mother's side, thinking that she might have called out to him in her delirium. He found when he kneeled down beside her and reached out to take one of her hands in his, that it was cold. He had thought that odd, since most of her body, including her hands, had been very warm ever since she had first taken sick.

It had taken a moment or two for realization to sink into the twelve-year-old that his mother was dead, but when it did, boy did he let loose. Buck had awakened to the sounds of Chris throwing things against the wall, and it had frightened him. He had never seen his close friend react in such an angered way before, and only when he had gone over to the bed and lit a lamp to see Cindy, did he realize why Chris was acting the way that he was.

Chris was a lot calmer now. Buck thought to himself as he stood beside his best friend and listened to the softly spoken words of the preacher. He was too calm. Not since that night had Chris shown any outward sign of being upset at all by his mother's death. He just simply went through the motions of telling the caretaker what dress he thought his ma would want to be buried in, what types of flowers she liked, and whether or not he wanted it to be a big ceremony or small one. Chris had said he didn't think they knew enough people to even make a decent size funeral, and he had been right. Despite all the help she had aided certain members of the small community; none had the decency to repay her kindness by even showing up at her funeral.

That was all right with Buck, and he had a feeling that Chris was very relieved that it was only the two of them at the funeral beside the preacher. Buck wasn't sure about anything, since Chris hadn't spoken one word to him since his Ma had died.

Chris stood before his mother's grave, afraid to say or do anything, for fear that he would just start crying again and he wouldn't be able to stop. He didn't know what was going to happen now. He had no place to go and no relatives in which to live with. While his mother was alive it hadn't really mattered much that his pa had run out on him and his ma when he was a little kid. His ma was always there to care for him when he was sick, discipline him when he had gotten out of line, made sure he had enough food and did his homework, and made all the holidays special no matter how little they had to celebrate with.

When the preacher had finished the ceremony, and moved away from the grave, Buck cast Chris a sidelong look. He didn't know what was going to happen from here on out, but he hoped that Chris didn't have any ideas on taking off on his own. They were best friends and they needed to stick together, since there was nobody else that he could depend upon.

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going to happen to us now?" Buck asked tentatively.

"I don't know."

Chris let out a shaky breath as he heard Buck sniffle beside him. He knew then that Buck was just as terrified as he was about what was going to happen to them now, and just knowing that he really wasn't truly alone, made him feel a little bit better. He would miss his Ma always, but he didn't have to do it alone.

He turned to Buck finally; sorrowful green eyes looking into Buck's tear filled blue ones. "I don't know what's going to happen to us now, Buck. What I do know is that we're going to face it together."

A relieved smile broke through Buck's tears at his best friend's words. "You mean that?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

Part 5-Vin's Story-1864

Five-year-old Vin Tanner huddled in the doorway of a shop, shivering, as he sought to stay dry from the sudden downpour of rain. He held the lapels of his torn and dirty coat together with his cold little hands, and scrunched his scrawny legs closer to his chest for added protection from the bitter weather.

Tears welled up in his cerulean blue eyes as he wished for about the hundredth time that day that his Ma was still alive and that she could hold him in her arms again. He couldn't even remember how many days it had been since she had died, and their landlord had thrown him out on the streets. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye to his Ma, or take anything of hers with him, except for his memories.

Vin just knew that it had been a long time since he was on the streets, stealing food from vendors when they weren't watching, peddling for spare change from wealthy ladies who took pity on him. They all told him how sad it was that he was living on the streets at his age, but not one ever mentioned taking him home with them, and he had soon learned that their hearts weren't as big as their words. Neither were their pocketbooks, but he guessed he couldn't expect them to hand over large sums of money to a nobody like him. What they did give him usually was enough to buy him something to eat for the day and he was grateful for that at least.

He just wished that the rain would stop, so that he wouldn't be so cold. As he huddled in the doorway, he heard a noise to his left and glanced quickly down the alleyway. As young as he was, he had learned to be wary of any and all noises, since they usually accompanied potential danger for him. Already he had learned firsthand what it was to be beaten up by some of the other, older boys who were also living on the streets, and to go without food after they had stolen whatever little money he had claimed in a day's time.

Next to the other boys on the streets, Vin knew that he had to beware of the burly police officers that roamed the night, snatching up kids and throwing them in jail or in places equally bad: children's homes. He kept his head craned around the corner of the doorway, peering through the dreary night to see who or what had made the noise that had heard, when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Another hand slid across his chest.

"All right you little bugger, you're coming with me." A deep, masculine voice said.

Vin slowly raised his head up, far up, his little heart beginning to pound so hard in his chest he thought it was going to jump clear out of his skin. A grizzled face, nearly covered completely by the wide brim of a sodden hat, peered coldly down at him. A shiny badge peeked through from inside the stranger's coat, identifying him as a policeman to the frightened fiver-year-old. Instinct kicked in then, and Vin began kicking and struggling against the man holding him.

"Fighting won't do you any bit of good." The man said, jerking Vin off of the ground and tossing him over his shoulder.

The officer started out of the alleyway with his burden still fighting to free himself. When Vin's foot connected with the officer's chin, the officer through him onto the muddy ground. Vin's breath left him as he hit the ground, and he wasn't able to defend himself when the officer yanked him up by the collar of his coat.

"You do anything like that again and you're going to get more than tossed into the mud!" the officer snarled into Vin's face.

Despite the imminent danger that he was in, Vin's blue eyes narrowed into a glare that hid the terror he felt. He did not speak or nod his head in acquiescence, but glared defiantly back at the large man. The officer tossed him over his shoulder once again, and continued out of the alleyway.

Vin's anger gave way to fear as he began to wonder where the officer was going to take him. The officer walked several blocks before they reached a large brick building. Vin had a minute to ponder whether they were entering a jail or an orphanage, before the police officer took them both inside the building.

Vin was tossed down onto a wooden chair outside an office of some sort.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay there in that chair until I come out for you, or I'm going to give you the licking of your life." The officer threatened before he disappeared into the office.

Vin sat in the chair as directed, terrified by what might happen to him if he moved. As he sat huddled in the chair, he saw two older boys appear at the far end of the corridor in which he sat. One was blonde, the other a brunette, and both carried knapsacks as they crept along the wall toward Vin.

As they came in reach of Vin, the blond haired boy in the lead, made eye contact with the frightened five-year-old. Green orbs locked with blue ones and held for a space of a couple of minutes. Vin sucked in his breath as if waiting to see what the older boy would do.

He didn't have long to wait. The blonde boy held out a hand towards Vin ignoring the incredulous look the dark haired boy shot him. Vin hesitated only a second before scampering down from the chair and over to the older boy. He slipped his small hand into the larger one and the three boys continued on down the hallway to the front door, and slipped out into the dark, wet night to their freedom.

Part 6-Ezra's story-1864

Nine-year-old Ezra Percival Standish listened fearfully at the door of his room, which wasn't really a room at all, but a closet, for the comforting sounds of his 'Uncle' Seymour snoring. A low rumbling sound filled his ears and Ezra's heart gave a hopeful lurch. If he played this just right, then he would escape his tormentor and be free to live on his wits and the skills that his mother, Maude, had been training him since he was able to walk and talk. He slid the piece of wire out of the sleeve of his tattered suit coat and inserted it into the lock of the door and began to jiggle it around, hoping to connect it just right with the locking mechanism of the door so that it would unlock and he could escape.

As he worked at the lock, he continued to listen attentively at the door, hoping that he wasn't making too much noise to awaken the man that his mother had insisted he call 'uncle' and with whom she had left him with for the past four months. He would never think of the mean, ill-tempered man as his uncle. The last four months had been a living hell for Ezra at the hands of Seymour. He had only been given scraps of food off of the man's plate, taken out of the closet twice a day to use the facilities; or when the terrible man thought that he could make a fast buck off of the boy, he would have Ezra help him with his cons or win over a rich matron's trust that he could exploit.

Those days Ezra had always looked forward to, since it meant that he would be able to wash up, wear clean clothing, and practically eat and drink anything that he wanted. He had taken to storing away morsels of food in his pockets to stave off hunger pains later on or divesting some coins or bills from the wealthy personages that Seymour dragged him along to.

Finally, after about a half hour or so his work paid off. Ezra slipped the piece of wire back into his sleeve, not knowing whether or not he would need it again at some later date, and slowly turned the knob on the closet door and opened it. He slipped cautiously out into the room, wincing as Seymour's snoring became even more ominous than it had sounded from inside his tiny prison.

Ezra slowly made his way across the large bedroom toward the door that would lead out into the hallway and his freedom, making sure to avoid the boards that made a creaking sound when weight was placed on them. He reached the door at last and reached out a trembling hand to turn the knob. If he was successful in freeing himself from Seymour's bedroom suite, he knew he could escape from the house so that none of the servants would see him.

As the door swung open inward, his heart practically stopped beating as Seymour suddenly shifted into a sitting position on the bed. He didn't move, he didn't breathe, fearful that if he made any sound or movement that he was going to be discovered and there was going to be hell to pay. After what seemed liked a lifetime, Seymour flopped backwards onto the bed and settled into snoring once again and Ezra could breathe again.

He didn't hesitate in pulling the door open wide enough for him to slip out into the main part of the suite. Ezra closed the door quietly behind him and moved hurriedly across the room over to Seymour's office and up to the picture on the wall that held the man's safe.

A devilish smile creased his lips as he worked the combination, and opened the safe. He had a gift for numbers. Once he saw a set of them, regardless of their correlation to each other, he memorized them. It was one of the reasons why his Mother had used him in so many of her cons. There was a click as the lock mechanism worked and then the heavy iron door opened. Ezra didn't hesitate in grabbing one of the bundles of money, and a bag of various coins and stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket.

Ezra closed the safe door, replaced the picture and hightailed it toward the double doors of the suite. A few moments later found him running away from the house and into the dark night toward freedom. He didn't know where he was going to go, just so long as it was as far away from Seymour as he could get.


End file.
